From the moment I had the cajones to ask how he managed to acquire so many pairs of eyeglasses that he could match the colors to his ties, my relationship with Andy Heyward changed. I certainly wasn’t some huge 747 looming on his radar, but I’d at least become a blip; he was at least aware of me.

Andy was looking at me differently, making eye contact, measuring, always measuring and at the same time holding his cards close to his chest. I didn’t want to ever get into a poker game with him.

I knew he hadn’t asked me to his office to chat about my scripts for The Littles. As is often the case with powerful executives, he was cordial because he wanted something. My knowing that, I felt, gave me a microscopic edge. I exhaled for what felt like the first time since I’d come into his office. I leaned back in my chair and forced myself to relax. Andy smiled a thin smile, four steps ahead of me, knowing exactly what I was thinking, interested to see how I’d react to what he was about to say, planning how we’d strategize together about the news he would deliver and, I’d like to believe, gaining a tiny bit of respect for me because of my newfound relaxed manner. I think my stock went up a few points in those seconds.

But my “newfound relaxed manner” was about to go out the window. As abruptly as I had blurted my question about where he got all his eyeglasses, Andy said, "Judy Price wants to meet you."

He might just as well have said the Pope wanted to meet me!